Kind Of Late
by clair beaubien
Summary: After finding and losing his father again, Reid has a talk with Hotch.


When the final paper of the day had been read, signed, filed and done with, Hotch closed up his office and prepared to go home.

They were just back from Las Vegas and Reid finding his father and then losing him all over again, if only metaphorically. Everyone dealt with pain differently; Hotch knew that Reid tended to deal with it by isolating himself. So he wasn't surprised to see Reid still at his desk, intent on something on his computer.

"Kinda late, isn't it?" Hotch asked as he walked down the steps into the bullpen.

"I'm just organizing a few things on my computer," Reid said. He sounded like it was only five pm and not close to ten.

"It's late. Go home."

"I just have a few more things to sort out."

"They'll still be there tomorrow."

"We'll probably have another case tomorrow," Reid said, not taking his eyes off the computer screen.

"And they'll _still_ be there. Go home."

But - g _o home to what?_ Hotch thought as soon as he said it. What did Reid have to go home to? No family. None nearby anyway. Just his Mom out in Nevada and nobody else.

"You're still here," Reid pointed out.

"And I'm on my way out, just as soon as you've left as well."

Reid shook his head, the movement was fast and jerky, and his expression closed off as though he was feeling something he didn't want to feel. "I just need -." His voice caught and he cleared his throat and swallowed and started again. "I just - I need to sort things out."

 _Things,_ Hotch thought to himself, not needing to be told Reid wasn't talking about _things_ on his computer. "It's getting late. You need to go home and get some rest."

"It doesn't matter what I need," Reid muttered. "It's never mattered what I needed."

Hotch took the chair at his desk. "Reid – "

"No, I don't mean you," Reid said, quickly. He tacked a smile onto the end of it but Hotch wasn't buying it. On the desk next to Reid's computer, he saw the envelope with Reid's name written in Gideon's hand. The note he'd left for Reid when he disappeared from all their lives.

First Reid's father had abandoned him. Then Gideon. Maybe Hotch wasn't a genius, but he figured he didn't have to be to know what was going on.

Reid was an asset to the team, insightful, determined, empathetic, a walking talking encyclopedia. A little quirky, but who wasn't? He had a good relationship with everybody else on the team, but sometimes his brilliance and his quirkiness seemed designed to keep people distant from him, whether he intended it or not. To have the one person he really seemed to have invested himself in just disappear – even with an explanation, it had to be painful and confusing. Finding his father again seemed to have reopened those hidden wounds.

"You know…" Hotch tapped the envelope. He wouldn't pick it up. It was Reid's, he wouldn't pick it up. "…Gideon didn't leave _you."_

" _Aaaand_ I'm not saying he did," Reid said, still sounding like nothing that was going on was a big deal.

"People hurt, Reid. And they run from the hurt, even if they have to leave the most important things behind."

"I understand that perfectly." He almost sounded happy.

"He didn't leave because of you."

Reid took a breath as though about to answer. His hand curled into a fist then uncurled and he lightly patted the envelope.

"He didn't _stay_ for me either," he said with a short bitter laugh.

"Reid - your father - "

"Eight miles, did you know that?" Reid said suddenly. "All my life, my father lived _eight miles_ away from me and never visited _once._ Eight miles. I've gone farther out of my way for coffee in the morning and he couldn't once come see how we were doing. How _I_ was doing. I was a child, I was alone with a mentally ill mother and he couldn't _once_ come find out how I was doing. And I'm supposed to be okay with that. I'm supposed to just forget that I was left alone to take care of my mother, take care of myself, take care of _everything_. All the while he lived _eight miles_ away."

His hand on the envelope curled again into a white knuckled fist. "It's like - it's like I wasn't enough and yet somehow I was too much."

"Reid –"

"Yeah, yeah, you're right. I should go home." Reid shut down his computer, swept Gideon's letter into his jacket pocket, locked his desk drawers, and stood up with his satchel over his shoulder, all without looking at Hotch. "It'll probably be a busy day tomorrow. We should go home."

"Reid, wait." Hotch stood up and when it seemed Reid would keep walking, he put a hand on his arm. "Hey." Not tight, not holding on, not anything Reid wouldn't want or couldn't handle. Just enough to get his attention. His full attention.

"I _will_ be here tomorrow," Hotch told him.

Reid blinked and swallowed. He cleared his throat and looked at the space between them with a pinched expression that was confused and grieving and unreadable.

"Thank you," he said. His voice was thin and tight. " _Thank you."_

"C'mon, I'll walk out with you."

They walked out of the office and Hotch pulled the door shut behind them.

The End

A/N: I started this story so many years ago, I can't even remember how long it's been. Since Reid's father was on. How long is that?


End file.
